


The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Comes To Brunch

by youmockussir



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Brunch, Carlos Likes To Bake, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sheriff Sam is mentioned, Technically Spoilers for It Devours but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmockussir/pseuds/youmockussir
Summary: Carlos isn't usually a gossip. The Faceless Old Woman Secretly Living in his Home just brings out that side of him.
Relationships: Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale) & The Faceless Old Woman, Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Comes To Brunch

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for a tiny mention of blood and casual alcohol use

A lot of people think that Carlos and Cecil work so well because they have similar interests. This is true, in some sense. Carlos loves Cecil, and Cecil loves Carlos, and they both love spicy rice and their niece Janice and secretly stashing pens and the crushing weight of existence.

Most of their hobbies, though, are distinct. Cecil loves old-timey westerns; Carlos likes science documentaries. Carlos is a video game guy, and will play Red Dead Redemption or Microsoft Word late into the evening, while Cecil would rather spend a Saturday night embalming some miscellaneous organs. Cecil has a passion for all things coffee, but Carlos. Well. 

Carlos loves to bake. It feels scientific to him, but more than that, he likes making things with his hands. He likes the rhythmic kneading of gluten-free bread, the precise cooling and heating of pastry-making, the proportional nature of recipes. Honestly? It’s one of his favorite pastimes. 

It was a lazy Sunday morning for Carlos. Cecil had left their home an hour earlier for his Sunday-Morning-Sunrise-Yoga-And-International-Political-News radio program. Carlos ~kind of~ remembered him leaving, kissing Carlos’s forehead and shimmying off his sleeping lederhosen before departing from the room. Carlos hadn’t said anything, of course. He is a  _ very  _ heavy sleeper, and a complete bitch in the mornings. He pulled the sheets over his head and went back to sleep.

This only worked for an hour longer before Aubergine jumped up onto the bed, both tongues slobbering all over his face. Carlos tried to push him off the bed (gently! he’s a bitch, not a monster), but his dog was nothing if not persistent, and he could only take so much acidic saliva on his cheeks before it started to burn. 

Carlos rolled out of bed. He took a moment to slip into his fuzzy morning lab coat while Aubergine tugged at his socks. Carlos opened the window, letting the little purple dog skip out into the backyard to go to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and yawned down the stairs before letting Aubergine back in through the kitchen window.

Carlos opened the pantry. Last weekend, he made butter croissants, and the weekend before that he made scones with Steve, so both of those were out. He thought about making the sweet corn cake his mother made for him the last time he and Cecil went to visit. It was moist and delicious and tasted like his childhood. Upon further inspection of the kitchen, though,he didn’t have any corn. At least, if he did, it was invisible corn, and he knew he didn’t have a good chance of finding it. 

He glanced at the vial of almond flour and impulsively decided on macarons. Rounding up the a few ingredients and baking trays, he dropped everything clumsily on the kitchen counter. 

“I could have been sleeping, you know,” said a voice behind him.

Carlos could see something flitting in the corner of his eye. He sighed.

“Sorry, Faceless Old Woman, I forgot you were there,” Carlos picked up a tray that had crashed to the kitchen floor. “Would you like some coffee?”

The sound of long toenails on hardwood floors skittered closer. “And yet, I never forget where you are. I can’t forget. It’s the curse of watching your every waking moment. And every sleeping moment. And every f-”

Carlos waved his hand lazily. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Coffee?’

“No, but I would kill for some of that sangria in the back of your fridge.” said the Faceless Old Woman secretly. 

Frowning, Carlos said, “What sangria?” He certainly didn’t know how to make sangria, and Cecil was more of a mimosas kind of guy. 

“The one I made for you out of white wine and the fruit I stole from Susan Willman’s kitchen. She only uses it for a splash of color, she’d never notice it’s gone. Don’t worry, I took the rind off the grapefruits, and pulled out some of the larger molars. ” 

A wineglass was shoved gently into Carlos’s hand. He just barely managed not to drop it, sliding it back onto the counter. After a little inspection (from all nine senses- he  _ is  _ a scientist), he took a sip. 

“Huh. Thanks, Faceless Old Woman,” Carlos said in the vague direction he thought she was. A glass clinked secretly against his own.

¯\\_( )_/¯🍷

Carlos folded equal measures of almond flour, powdered sugar, and ground spider legs into his meringue mixture, listening to the Faceless Old Woman talk.

“I don’t know why Sam keeps insisting on putting their ice cubes in the freezer,” she ranted secretly. ‘It’s just a waste of space. I have to keep moving them into their bathtub or their toaster while they’re at work. And Sam is  _ always  _ at work.” The Faceless Old Woman shook her head disapprovingly. “I don’t know why that Jackie woman puts up with them.”

Carlos’s back was turned to her as he scooped the batter into a sheep’s intestine, but he paused, raising a perfect eyebrow. “Jackie and Sam, huh?” He tried not to sound too nosy, but he  _ desperately  _ wanted to know the tea. You can’t spend that much time around Cecil without becoming a bit of a gossip.

“Oh yes,” the Faceless Old Woman smirked (somehow it worked, even without a mouth). “It’s fairly recent, but I know for a fact that they filed The Paperwork.” 

“Ooooooh,” Carlos wiggled his eyebrows. 

He remembers when he and Cecil filed The Paperwork for the first time. It was on their fifth date, after a trip to Dark Owl Records. Michelle had sneered at them for being so mainstream as to listen to  _ Luis Fonsi _ , but there was something about Despacito that just got Cecil in the mood. He had looked at Carlos with rich, lavender eyes, pupils the size of the moon (stupid moon!), and Carlos lost all control. They had raced home, Carlos’s knuckles white on the steering wheel of his sporty coup. Cecil all but dragged his Secret Police Officer out of the bushes and made him notarize all of the paperwork. Young and with just the tingles of new love, Carlos and Cecil had filled out page after page of forms about the nature of their relationship, their allegiance to the City Council, and the exact acts they intended to pursue later that evening. It was, to this day, the hottest hour of Carlos’s life. 

Carlos finished piping small circles of batter onto the baking trays, and went to wash the spider goop off his hands.

“Would you mind?” He asked the Faceless Old Woman, gesturing with his elbow towards the pans. 

The Faceless Old Woman sighed secretly. “The things I do for you, Carlos The Scientist. You wouldn’t even know the half of it…” She smacked the first tray hard and repeatedly against the granite countertop. “You take for granted so much…” Smack. Smack. “Who do you think stitches tiny pineapples into the inside of your boxer briefs?”

“That was you?” Carlos started to gape, but thought better of it. In retrospect, it was really obvious, and he didn’t want to look stupid in front of the Faceless Old Woman. Stupid is  _ not  _ one of the things a scientist is.

He preheated the oven to 435K.

¯\\_( )_/¯🍷

Carlos lounged on one of his bright kitchen chairs, a couple glasses of sangria later. His long dark hair was braided into a crown, and the Faceless Old Woman sat across from him as he painted her fingernails. The macarons were roasting safely in the oven, letting out tiny screams every few minutes to indicate they were rising appropriately.

“So a neutron walks into a bar and orders a beer,” Carlos gestures wildly with the nail polish brush. “and he says ‘how much for the beer?’ and the bartender says ‘$3’ and the neutron asks ‘why not ‘no charge’’ and the bartender says ‘I’ve had it up to here with you goddamn entitled millennials! I have a business to run! I can’t just give out free drinks all the time’ and the neutron apologized and forked over his credit card”

The Faceless Old Woman cackled. “You’re right!” She exclaimed secretly. “Jokes  _ are  _ funnier when they’re scientifically accurate!’ 

“Right?! Right?!” giggled Carlos, before adding. “So get this- Did you hear that Oxygen and Magnesium got together? I was so surprised, I said…” he paused, unable to keep laughter out of his voice, “I said, ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea? What with Oxygen’s intimacy issues and Magnesium’s inability to balance work and life-”

Just then, Cecil walked through the doors, wiping a tiny speck of blood off his finger with a red towel hung on the wall for that purpose. “Bunny, I’m home!”

“In here!” Carlos called.

Cecil bounced into the kitchen, snaking his tattooed arms around Carlos’s shoulders. “Hi Faceless Old Woman! Oooh, is that sangria?” He snatched Carlos’s drink and took a large swig. “What have you two been up to?”

Carlos smiled, and said “Oh, you know. Friendship.” He looked at the Faceless Old Woman. “Friendship is neat.”

He thought, if she could, she would have smiled too. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've written since my Glee days (was that 2012? oof, I'm old). Just wanted to get back into the practice of writing for fun. If you have any fun prompts feel free to send them my way!


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